This is another video from our LGBTQ and Converting Panel. Scott tells his story.
by LJ, a female Reform convert I can’t say with any honesty that Judaism sprang from a single thought in my head. Rather, it took time to see that it just may be the answer to many issues in my life. I had just recovered from cancer, Stage 2 colon cancer. As anyone who has had cancer can tell you, you never get rid of it. Even if every speck has been removed from your body, you think about it. It’s with you always. You wonder how many years you might have left, years of productive life. A year after my colon surgery, I retired from a career that had consumed 33 years of my life. I poured my heart and soul into that job, into working with those people, and now, due to my own choice, it had all been ripped from me. I had nowhere to go in the mornings. I had no social life. Sure, I had friends, but there were few that weren’t part of my work environment, and many of those friends were located in another city, where I had previously worked. I had thought about retirement for many years, but not very seriously. I had thought about doing good things. I wanted to do good things. Volunteer? I actually tried several volunteer tasks along the way, and none matched my personality. The final point of this journey was that I fell in love with a Jew. A lot of her friends were Jewish, and they became my friends. I was surrounded by Jews, and I really liked the way they lived their lives. They did good things. As a lesbian, I feel I was fortunate to have been accepted by these Jews, that my “gayness” wasn’t a second thought for them; that told me right there that I could fit into Jewish life as a gay person. As it turned out, this wasn’t the final point of my journey at all. I found a rabbi to study with, to learn what Judaism was really all about, and I joined a new community. They’re my community now. The journey was just beginning. Hear Linda talk about her conversion process in this video. By L., a female Reform convert When I came out to my mother as gay, I was in my 40’s. I had finally come to the long-fought decision to come out to my family if I ever landed in another relationship. When I did, I sat down with her, and she took it better than I thought she would. Her reply was, “I think I knew all along. I was just hoping it was a fad.” At the age of 63, it’s no fad. And 8 years after my mother died, I came out again, this time as a Jew. While I would give almost anything to have one last conversation with my mother, to see her again, I’m glad I don’t have to try to explain her to her that I’m a Jew. Because, you see, I’m going to Hell. And it would be Her Fault. So, spared that last conversation, I very easily converted – well, after it took me three tries to find the right rabbi, but the right rabbi I did find. The rabbis at my Reform synagogue in the East Bay have been super, everything you could have asked for as a lesbian or gay man, or as any Jew, actually. Kind, warm, accepting. Completely accepting. Their constituents are sometimes another story. But it’s a work in progress. Some people typecast me as Ellen DeGeneres, others as someone who would love to tell lesbian stories (you know, with sex ‘n stuff), and others ignore me completely. This is my community. They’ll get used to seeing me, get used to what lesbians look like and sound like, ones like me and ones who are completely different (because it’s really hard to stereotype us). And as more gay men and women join, we’ll just be normal Jews around temple. I look forward to that day. This is Dawn's interview with a man who went through the Hatafat Dam Brit. The comments in bold are hers. I was struck by how mysterious this procedure feels and the lack of information around it so I asked someone I know to tell me about his experience of hatafat dam. He agreed. Not exactly a topic I like to revisit, Dawn... But for you, here's the story. The most painful part of the process was writing the check to the mohel. The actual procedure was a walk in the park - I didn't feel a thing. My mohel was Rabbi Chanan Feld, of blessed memory. One thing to consider is the time in between the hatafat dam and the mikvah - when you are technically in this weird nexus of not a Jew but not-not a Jew either. Strange. Dawn: What was the level of pain? Zero physical pain. This is more info than you probably care to know, but the mohel draws blood from the scar tissue on the man's penis, which isn't near the head. Again, I'm not trying to be graphic or inappropriate, but you asked. Dawn: Where was it done? It was performed at a house which I believe doubled as Rabbi Chanan Feld's office. Specifically, it was done in a room designed for little kids (Winnie-the-Pooh wallpaper was hung and toys were in the room). Obviously no children were present, but still a little weird. Dawn: Was your rabbi with you? Or did you go on your own? I went on my own. I'm sure if I’d asked my rabbi to be there, he would have, but it wasn't something I needed him there for. Dawn: How did you get the contact information for the mohel? I was given Rabbi Feld's contact info by my rabbi and told exactly what to ask for. Rabbi Feld was very responsive. Dawn: How much did it cost? Feld charged $200 for him and $25 for each witness, which there were two. Total bill was $250. Dawn's comment to us: For everyone’s information, Rabbi Chanan Feld, of blessed memory, was a mohel by profession. Not every doctor who performs the ceremony charges this amount. Most of the men who emailed me said that they paid less. For example, Dr. Piser, when asked about the cost, suggested that the man give a donation to Dr. Piser’s synagogue, Temple Beth Abraham. The gentleman chose to give $50 to the shul. | Thoughts from our Email ListHopefully our blog entries will concern issues that matter to YOU, the curious about Judaism. 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